


Break Down and Tell

by betweenthebliss



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: 1000-5000 Words, Angst, Community: st_xi_kink, First Time, M/M, Mind Meld
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 19:29:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betweenthebliss/pseuds/betweenthebliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for a prompt at the star trek kink meme : "Kirk's angsting over his desire for Spock and  hiding/avoiding the issue by doing as much work as possible - spock is clueless at first, but catches on, and making out ensues."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break Down and Tell

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first trek fic ever; it's kind of a trip to find myself writing the original slash pairing, but the movie ate my brain, what can i say? this turned out way less porny than i'd originally intended, lol, but i hope the prompter likes it! thanks to thaursir for the lightning-fast beta; title from 'momentum' by the hush sound.

It isn't until things quiet down-- _really_ quiet down-- that Kirk is able to let his brain come out of action mode and start processing everything that's happened to him. And damn, it's a long list. Hard to believe it wasn't even a month ago he'd stood before the Academy board accused of cheating-- hard to believe a month ago he hadn't been an officer, let alone Captain of his own ship. He's doing pretty good so far. Sometimes he thinks he's doing better; other times he finds himself choking on panic at the responsibility hung round his shoulders. He'll look at Chekov's intent, vulnerable face in profile and be at a loss for how to wrap his mind around the fact that the lives of everyone on the Enterprise are in his hands. So 'pretty good so far' is the most he's about to admit to.

It's harder at night, when the bridge is deserted and he can't sleep. He walks the halls, learning his ship level by level, till every deck of her is as familiar as his own quarters. In those wee hours while his feet wander, his mind goes meandering as well, touching and revisiting scenes from the past few weeks. It doesn't take long for Jim to realize that more often than not, he ends up replaying the flood of data that the other, older Spock had given him. If he stops and really thinks about it, which he does as little as possible, it overwhelms him; images whose origins are a mystery, of himself seen through someone else's eyes. That man, that older self, is a stranger to Jim, a man who looks like him and sounds like him but doesn't actually exist.

And somewhere, underneath his brain's attempts to make sense of it (ironic, that he would be the one looking for logic; even more so that in the contents of a Vulcan's memory he would find none) he reaches a conclusion. The elder Spock hadn't told him everything, hadn't _showed_ him everything when they'd linked up. He'd had a tight leash on what he let Jim see, true-- but apparently not tight enough of one. He's sure the ambassador had tried like hell to keep it from him, and sure enough he can't say what makes him so damn sure he's right. But as soon as the thought crosses his mind he knows it-- the way he'd known he was right about the Romulans, a curling tension deep in his gut.

In the world the other Spock had come from, he and Jim hadn't just been friends. They'd been lovers.

It isn't exactly a realization he's comfortable with. Not only for the weirdness of the probability that in another universe he'd fallen (would fall? the time paradox makes his head hurt) for someone he's only gotten over detesting two weeks ago-- but because that someone is _Spock_. Even with what he knows about Spock and Uhura, he finds it impossible to imagine the Vulcan losing even an ounce of self-control over another person. Impossible to imagine him flustered, thwarted in desire, let alone swayed enough by emotion to risk the consequences of an action so completely illogical as conducting a relationship with his superior officer. Then when he tries to leave the whole 'objective point of view' thing behind and really imagine falling for Spock in return-- Jim can't make sense of it. But he's never been good at ignoring a hard truth, even when it makes him wonder if he's losing his fucking mind.

He finds an observation deck and sits in a corner, fingers thrust through his hair while he tries just to think his way around this. He tries to puzzle it out, starting with the kiss he still sort of wishes he hadn't seen-- but it's no good, Spock was cool even then, though (Kirk can't say how he knows this either) not at all insincere. He wonders what could possibly get Spock to really cut loose-- and then all of a sudden it's like he's back on the bridge, his shoulderblades cracking the console while Spock's fingers dig into his Adam's apple and he shudders for breath-- and he's shuddering now just thinking about it, about the intensity in Spock's eyes, the wildness unleashed in his deadly fury. He'd've killed Kirk without even realizing he was doing it if his father hadn't been there-- Jim knows that too, with a certainty that makes his hands curl into fists.

He jumps up from the bench and starts walking again, his tread quick and heavy, taking a savage pleasure in the way the few crew members he passes dart to the side, saluting as he passes. The next morning they'll be wondering what pissed the captain off so bad at half past two in the morning; now Kirk can't care who he ignores, or who gets stepped on if they don't get out of the way. He's staring straight ahead without really seeing where he's going. It doesn't help that every time he gets back to the part where Spock's hands are on his throat, his eyes unfocus and he's hit with another onslaught of emotions filtered with hazy images. His fingers tremble and his mouth feels like a desert. He gives up finally and goes to bed, where he sleeps fitfully, when he sleeps at all.

His interactions with Spock get more careful after that. It doesn't help that he can't talk about this, not to anyone, not even Bones. Especially not Bones. He can't tell anyone that he wakes up at two am from dreams of an old Vulcan's memories, things he never actually learned or saw but just knows (_emotional transferrence is a side effect of the mind meld_) or that sometimes he looks at Spock and can't even breathe for how badly he wants to touch him.

Telling Spock about it doesn't even occur to him at first, but when it does he knows it's a shitty idea. A world where that conversation would go well doesn't exist; not quite consciously he thinks they've got to get to it on their own if they're going to get there at all, and besides which, he's pretty sure Spock wouldn't even get why it was bothering him. Oh sure he'd _understand_, and say something about Jim's _discomfort in imagining himself physically intimate with someone he does not consciously desire_, and then Jim would have to do something extravagant like hit him just to change the subject, just to keep from feeling like even more of a fool.

It's not fucking fair.

Bones is the first to notice he's basically given up on sleeping. Actually, he's surprised nobody else has noticed he could stow Scotty's little green friend in the bags under his eyes, or that as soon as he goes off duty it's all he can do to stand up straight. He's never made a habit of paying attention to minutiae; now he reads all the reports that come across his desk, and when those are done he asks for more. He plots their courses himself, diving into star charts and solar maps with a fervor. It's Bones's arrival at his door that snaps him out of it one night-- one wee-hours-of-the-morning, to be precise. The door beeps, and he has to clear his throat before he can call out "Enter."

McCoy has that look-- the one he wore when he dragged Jim into the med shuttle to inject him with whatever it was that got him on the Enterprise in the first place-- the one that says _You are an idiot, and yet I keep coming back for more._ "Bones," Kirk greets with a nod, grinning like everything's fine. Well, he thinks he's grinning; in reality it's more of a toothy grimace touched with mania around the eyes.

Bones's expression gets even more doubtful. "You are an idiot," he says, and Jim looks wounded.

"What, me? What're you talking about?" He figures if he pretends he actually is an idiot, Bones will lay off. But he should've known better. Bones doesn't lay off; he goes in for the kill. He takes three steps into the room and plants both hands on Jim's desk, leaning over the pencil cup and the stack of reports, giving Jim his patented crazy eyes.

"There is something wrong with you," he says, calm but firm. He keeps on; Jim talks over him.

"As your physician I could order you to sick bay--"

"Come on, Bones, you've known me how long, that's not news anymore--"

They both stop and glare at each other. "What?" Jim asks, giving up the funny man routine in favor of imitating genuine disbelief. "Seriously, Bones, so I'm a little stressed. I'm the captain of a starship now, remember? This thing called 'work' I've finally learned how to do?" He gestures to the pile of PADDs, almost a week's worth of diagnostics.

His friend still looks doubtful, but Jim talks through any objections he might be about to voice. "Look, Bones, if I thought I was sick I'd tell you, okay? This is just--" he waves one hand flippantly-- "a little insomnia. Stress related. You wanna prescribe me something, I'll take it okay?" The offer mollifies him as Jim had known it would.

He leaves; when he gives Jim a bottle the next day, Jim thanks him, and tucks it into the back of a desk drawer after he's gone.

A week or so later it's three am and he's wandering again, with no purpose but seeing where his feet feel like taking him. He ends up on the port observation deck, the one at the farthest edge of the ship that gives a dizzying view of the stars flying past. He collapses onto a bench and puts his back against the wall, one leg slung up with his boot planted on the cushion. He closes his eyes and sees the supernova flare behind his eyelids, feels the older Spock's fingers dry and cool against his cheek.

When he'd flown toward the nova with the red matter in the dock, he'd been afraid-- afraid, but brave, and confident. He'd noted the irony; he'd always counseled Jim toward caution, and now here he was executing a daredevil plan of his own. Eighty years ago Kirk would have fought for the right to pilot the mission himself, or at least to go along for the ride--

Filled with emotions that aren't his own, Jim drops his hands to his sides and lets out a sound half frustration, half anguish, knocking his head back against the bulkhead several times in a row. "Fuck," he growls, opening his eyes and rubbing the back of his head. That had really fucking hurt. _Bones is right, I am an idiot._

"Captain? Is everything alright?"

The quiet voice shoots through him like an arrow, and his head whips around so fast his neck cracks. Spock stands in the doorway to the observation deck, his hands clasped behind his back, a look of mild concern drawing his eyebrows together. Too quickly flustered, Jim drops both feet to the ground and sits up straight. "Yeah, I'm fine... just a little stressed is all." It's the same excuse he gave Bones; somehow he thinks it'll work even less well with the Vulcan than it did with his best friend.

"I see. The lateness of the hour would suggest you are having difficulty sleeping." It occurs to Jim then that Spock will probably notice he hasn't changed out of his uniform yet either; proof that he hadn't even attempted sleep before starting his midnight wandering.

"You could say that," Jim mutters, dragging a hand through his hair as he gets to his feet. His brain is on red alert, urging him to flee the scene no matter how undignified and uncaptainly it looks-- anything would be better than inviting the catastrophe that's sure to occur if Spock keeps talking. Kirk's not exactly good at keeping his mouth shut on his best days and now-- three am, a dozen hours of sleep in the past week, wearing the same clothes he put on yesterday at the start of his shift-- is definitely not one of his best days.

"I would suggest a visit to Dr. McCoy, but your physiological condition would imply you have been regularly depriving yourself of sleep for several weeks. No doubt you would have sought Dr. McCoy's assistance long before now had you felt comfortable approaching him." Jim squints; he knows there's a reproach in there somewhere, but he's too damn exhausted to pick a fight about it.

"I'm fine," he says instead, and starts toward the door. Thank God it's wide enough that he doesn't have to pass too close; he's not sure what would happen if he had to stand close to Spock right now. As it is he can barely make eye contact, half afraid of what he might remember, half afraid of what he might be about to do.

He's a few paces away when the Vulcan calls after him. "Jim..." he stops, but doesn't turn. He hopes he's far enough away that Spock can't tell his fingers are trembling again. "If there is any assistance I might offer...."

He pauses as Kirk shakes his head twice, definitively, cutting him off. "I'm good. Really." He starts walking again, his pace determined and measured. He's fine. He's got to at least try to convince Spock that he's fine. He doesn't hear Spock move from where he left him; the turbolift doors slide shut with a hiss and Jim practically collapses against the wall.

He isn't fine. He's a fucking mess, and he's pretty sure the only thing that kept Spock from hauling his ass down to sick bay was knowing that as shitty as he's looking these days, Bones couldn't possibly not have talked to him already.

He finds himself at his quarters and figures, what the hell, why not. It's not like he's got many other places to go-- anywhere else he runs the risk of someone seeing him, and Jim thinks he'd probably rather be dead than get another lecture from Bones about his late-night constitutionals. So he goes in, leaving the lights dim 'cause his head hurts like a bitch, thinking maybe it might be time to dig out the bottle that Bones gave him a week ago and actually use what's in it. He knows if he sits down at the desk he'll fall asleep there, so he kicks the chair out of the way and leans against the heavy oak while he leans down and rummages in the drawer with one hand.

The door beeps. Jim's head jerks up and he just stares at it, almost like he's wondering if he could've imagined it, or if he could possibly have just in the last five minutes acquired the ability to hear someone hailing to enter the room next door. The hail comes again, and Jim's pretty sure he knows (down to a choice of two, anyway) who's on the other side. His throat is too dry to make words; he grabs the glass of water, gulps half of it, sets it beside him. "Enter."

The door opens and just from the silence Jim knows who it is. His eyes are glued to the drawer he's sifting through, its contents suddenly engrossing. There's silence for a moment, then the door closes with a hushing sound and Jim can just picture Spock standing there, his hands behind his back like always, and that look on his face; the slight tightening of the eyebrows and mouth that indicates he thinks he knows what's going on even if no one will spell it out for him, and the fact that no one will spell it out is annoying the shit out of him.

"Permission to speak freely, Captain."

It irritates Jim to no end and his head whips around, his eyes narrowed in a glare, just as quickly turning away again. "It's three-thirty in the goddamn morning and I just let you into my quarters, I'm pretty sure that means I'm not standing on ceremony," he snaps. Though he's not looking, he knows Spock's head inclines a few inches in acknowledgement of the answer he'd expected.

"I believe you were not entirely forthcoming just now," the Vulcan says evenly, and Jim's eyes close for a second. "What about?" he asks, opening his eyes again and giving a cursory glance over his shoulder. Just, you know, to make it look like he's acting normal. "You indicated there was nothing I could do to ease your discomfort. I," and there's a little pause there that somehow makes Jim feel a hell of a lot better about all of this, like maybe he's not the only one walking on thin ice, "I do not believe that is accurate."

Spock stops then, and Jim gives up on pretending he's looking for something, and lets his hands rest against the desk, his shoulders drooping. "I don't know what to tell you, Spock," he says, and he sounds weary and defeated even to himself. "It's... nothing you did, okay, and I don't want--" he'd been about to say _don't want you beating yourself up about it,_ but he doubts Vulcans even have a word for self-pity, let alone know what it's like to feel it. "How did you know I was here, anyway?"

"I requested your location from the ship's computer. As first officer I do have authorization to--"

"Okay, okay, fine--"

"--in the event of a hostage situation or other emergency. You are trying to change the subject."

"I thought I was doing better than trying," Kirk mumbles, resisting the urge to look and see if that won him a smile.

"Jim." Now he can't help but turn, the soft insistence in Spock's tone unlike anything he's ever heard come out of the Vulcan's mouth before. "I cannot continue in my attempts to help you if you do not let me."

"Who says I need help?" Jim protests, but Spock's got the floor now and he's not giving it up.

"There is something troubling you and I am not so insensitive to human emotion as to be ignorant of the fact that I am a factor in your distress. Your assurance that I did nothing is perhaps an attempt to prevent upsetting me-- I am aware it is customary to avoid such confrontations by dissembling--"

And that's about all Jim can take. Slamming his fist into the edge of the desk (which really fucking hurts, by the way) he turns with a face full of fury. "It wasn't you, it was _him_!" he yells, pointing out the window, out toward the far-distant cave on Delta Vega. "I'm not lying to you, for God's sake, are you serious? He did this thing to me, okay, merged our brains or something to show me what happened and how he got here! And now there's all this /stuff/ in my head and it's driving me fucking crazy!" He runs out of breath and turns back around, slumps against the desk. He's exhausted, suddenly drained, and a small part of him wants to actually crawl into bed and cry.

He starts as he realizes Spock's standing right next to him; he hadn't even heard him move and now he's close enough to touch, and Jim's frozen, his eyes cut sharply to the side, full of warning because as much as he wants this, it terrifies him, too, and Spock's probably got no idea how fast Jim will lose it if he touches him. "You say it was not me, Jim, but it was," Spock says quietly. "He is me. We are different in experience, perhaps, but--" there's that little pause again, the interrupting breath when he's about to say something illogical-- "in essence... you would say 'at the heart of the matter'... we are one and the same."

Jim doesn't even know what to fucking _say_ to that. He thinks he might almost know what Spock is trying to tell him, but now he's the one who needs it spelled out, and he's sure as hell not about to ask that question. He just stares at Spock, whose dark eyes are fixed on his face, and wishes his heart weren't pounding so goddamn loud. Spock must be able to hear it, actually, 'cause to Jim's ears it sounds like it's trying to run the Kentucky Derby. He opens his mouth to make a smart remark that'll rebuff Spock's well-meaning advances-- rebuff him all the way back to his quarters, if Jim's lucky-- but Spock must see the look on his face coming from a mile away, because all of a sudden he's got Jim by the arm, his fingers gripping hard just above the elbow. It fucking hurts and it feels wonderful, it _feels_, and he forgets to be a wiseass or even to breathe.

"Your reaction to my touch would seem to prove that my presence does indeed affect you," Spock observes, and Jim knows he's blushing, and is unspeakably grateful the light's dim enough that Spock can't see. "I feel I must suggest that if this is the case--"

Just to shut him up, Jim kisses him. It's not really a kiss so much as their faces mashing together; Jim grabs him by the elbows and drags him closer, and his nose bangs against Spock's and his lip catches between the clash of their teeth, and it's a hell of a lot more awkward than it is sexy. They break apart and Jim's just glaring at him, catching his breath, wordlessly daring him to say something else, or to leave, which is mostly what Jim's expecting him to do sooner rather than later anyway.

Spock doesn't say anything for a second. His face looks the same as it does when he's listening to reports or advising Jim on how not to start an intergalactic war this week. But then his eyes dart to Jim's mouth, and then up to his eyes again, and he gives that tiny upturn of one corner of his mouth, the lift of an eyebrow that on anyone else would translate to a shit-eating grin. And then he's the one leaning in and kissing Jim, with a lot more grace and finesse (the bastard), somehow maneuvering around Jim's hand fisted in the front of his shirt. Jim's still leaning back against the desk, and when Spock shifts a little of his weight against him it sparks something that slides through his entire body and sets him on fire, and the ungodly rightness of this finally kicks in and he hears himself make a sound that's half a plea, and almost a laugh. His free hand finds Spock's hip and pulls him close, overbalancing, the Vulcan's hands now bracing against the desk as Jim grinds against him, intent on the hot sweet slide of Spock's tongue against his.

They stand that way for a few more minutes, making out and pressing into each other like horny teenagers (well, human ones anyway), until Spock's hand leaves the desk and moves to Jim's elbow, then up to his arm, then his neck. His fingers brush Jim's cheek and like lightning he's buried under an onslaught of memories both his own (his breath frosting in the cave, the fire crackling, the calm voice, _it will be easier if i show you_) and not his own (visions of his own face too numerous to count, familiar hands on his arms, his shoulders, the nape of his neck, and that calm cadenced voice mumbling his name like a caress) and a flash of panic stakes him through the heart, and he gasps, one arm flailing out, pushing Spock away. The Vulcan stumbles two steps and sits down hard when the edge of Jim's bed hits the back of his knees. His face registers surprise and confusion, and just maybe a dash of hurt, and Jim realizes he's just been a first-rate asshole.

"I'm sorry," he blurts, "that was shitty. It-- you just, with the hand thing--" he gives up, shrugging and feeling more like an idiot than he has all night.

"You remembered more of my-- of the Ambassador's memories," Spock says, his hands planted at his sides, not looking at him.

He nods, and shrugs one shoulder again, searching for words. "It's just weird... seeing myself, but it's not really myself, and us like that...." He's still half-hard and trying to catch his breath; and then Spock looks up at him, pale and intense and God, Jim didn't know Vulcans were capable of making bedroom eyes at someone, and he doubts Spock knows he's giving them to Jim right now. He forgets why he was talking and just sort of stares at him, hungry and honest and wanting.

"If you are reconsidering your decision to invite me inside--"

"No," Jim cuts him off, that's something he doesn't have to think about, and he doesn't want Spock to be wondering about it either. "Hell no." Spock nods once and his eyes don't leave Jim's face, and all of a sudden Jim doesn't give a damn about the memories or the awkwardness or hell, how he's going to rationalize this to himself in the morning. He is very pointedly NOT thinking of Uhura. Right now, and he doesn't care either how sappy this sounds because it's just true, all he cares about is that Spock's here with him-- that Spock chose to come here, and that he makes damn sure neither of them end up wishing he hadn't.

The silence stretches for another few seconds until finally Jim's mouth quirks and he admits, "I'm just trying to figure out if I should warn you before I make out with you again, or if I should just jump on you and see what happens."

The corner of Spock's mouth turns up, a smirk more than a smile, so slight it'd be easy to miss without looking closely. "Either scenario would be acceptable," he says, and it takes Jim a second to actually process what he's said. Then he's so relieved he laughs, possibly the first real laugh he's had in weeks, and a tightness around Spock's eyes that Jim hadn't even realized was there is suddenly gone.

He goes to the bed and Spock leans back a little, just enough to see Jim's face, and the light catches his profile and the unguarded want in his eyes. Jim crawls on top of him and he can't see anymore, but Spock's hand catches his wrist, and Jim knows it's going to be okay.


End file.
